


So Close

by Multiversal_Misfit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Female Marco, Implied Jeannie, socialite au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiversal_Misfit/pseuds/Multiversal_Misfit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bertholdt Fubar is the poor unfortunate soul dragged by Annie to parties he doesn't want to go to, and the one person he talks to is the only girl he really shouldn't. Now stuck in the world of political lies and faces, he stuck with dealing not only with scheming parents too suspicious of his frequent appearances, but also his growing feelings for an already engaged freckled girl who is completely out of his league.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In my Arms

**Author's Note:**

> You seen enchanted? Yeah, these titles are totally based on that one song.

The question of when he was going to stop letting Annie drag him along ran across Bertholdt’s mind as he stared across the hall and gave another swallow of his nerves. She had long since abandoned him at this table, pulled away by some suited boy, and he swore she smiled at him. She was used to this world, two other friends of her's he’d never met born of this. She knew how to play the part, where to go, how to speak.

Bertholdt Fubar didn’t know of the politics surround him (a few of the faces he managed to recognize, plastered all over television). He didn’t know of the complicated games they played, the rules that silently dictated their lives. He just knew the two rules Annie had left him. Stay silent, don’t get involved. Easy enough to follow. He hated talking to strangers; sometimes he could barely talk to Annie.

It was getting harder though. The hours were passing, daughters, sons, drunk on their own success and the spirits scattered, no longer caring. Everyone’s desirable. He’s desirable and the attention is not welcomed. ‘Don’t let them near; they’ll only want a toy.’ Annie’s words are bouncing around his head. But she’s gone now, his only protection from them. She’s enjoying herself with that boy, and there’s no reason to stay any longer. But his position is terrible. Whatever scattered tables, filled with open refreshments and drinks, some for those who did not feel for dancing to sit at, were tucked far into the hall. The swirl of colors and fabrics, laughter and joy block his way. He’d have to brace his way through the crowd and the very idea sends a bead of sweet down his face. It’s not his night.

It's less of his night when he dares to venture. The song ends too soon, partners are dismissing, he feels suffocated as people shift around him. Women have a habit of floating around partners, and some have made their way close. He can't help it, there's an initial panic in his chest and he tries to escape. He's instead thwarted again.

She's shorter than him, enough that in his flight he doesn't notice as she smacks into his chest and they both stumble in opposite directions. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't--"

The small laughter is strange, so is the smile she gives as she shakes her head, smoothing out her evening gown before finally speaking. "It's quite alright; I was the one not paying attention to my path. Forgive me." She has to be important. There's no one else dressed so delicately and precise, made to seem perfect in every aspect, in the entire building. They seem so dull compared to her, everyone else out of place instead of her.

If Annie hadn't told him it was some sort of cotillion, an introduction, Bertholdt could've sworn the woman in front of him was getting married, Her dress screamed it. The delicate flower lace cover that started as a choker and wrapped down across her front until it ended at the waist, the simple-ness of the skirt fanning out around her. He wonders if it itches at her skin, how far around it wraps around the dress. And then he realizes she's staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"Ah! I should be the one. I was in such a rush that I didn't notice you." No one bothers them and he can't help but feel watched, as if the whispers passing by are about him, how he knows her. It unnerves him. "I really should go however. My time here is overdue and--"

She means to be polite, but something about the nervousness of the other is amusing to her, eliciting a short laugh. She unlinks her hands, gently holding out one towards him as another smile replaces her laugh. “It’s no one’s fault. But if you’d like to apologize, may I ask a dance of you? I think it’s a fair request.”

Her question is barely audible to him, but everyone is aware of it. They’re moving in partners again, delicate hands starting a tune as Bertholdt notes the gloves that are identical to her lace, wrapped around her middle fingers. "

I apologize. You’re allowed to say no if you’d like.” She seems disappointed as she draws her hand back. Not the same as the other girls he’d denied, genuinely. It’s enough to make him shake his head clear and quickly grab her hand. She's surprised, as is he, and he tries his best to hide the embarrassment. He forces his focus on the song, the movement of those around them as he starts their own dance.

"I am sorry," Bertholdt mumbles eventually. "I was sort of brought here by my friend and she's off somewhere; I was, just trying to go home." His eyes are side glanced. Dancers that are so much more skilled than him catching his eye. They move so easily, dip and turn their partners with an inhuman grace he could never achieve. He wants to try though, and so he lets go of her waist.

There's something calming about your first spin as partners.

For her part, she's humming to herself, nodding at his words. This boy is an entertaining partner, no doubt about it. "Is my party not entertaining enough for you?" She scoffs lightly, giving a smirk that's ill fitted to her face. "I understand we’re not the most desirable of company, but to dismiss before the appropriate hour is terrible manners and quite insulting to me. " there's shock in his face, and the débutante casts her face elsewhere, an embarrassment filled laugh leaving her. "Sorry, that's a terrible thing to say. I'm not good at this." Her cheeks are burning now, tongue pressed against teeth.

Bertholdt's chuckling nervously now. His palms are feeling sweaty again, he doesn't want to stain the pure white of her sleeves. "We could... start at hello? I'm, Bertholdt Fubar." It makes her smile, and as to why it makes his chest flood with warmth he doesn't know.

"It's my greatest pleasure to meet you Mr. Fubar. And I am Marcie Bodt." His face gives it away,the recognition flashing across his eyes at her last name. But he doesn't lye, only smiles again and leaves it at that. It's a break for her. From everyone and everything that associates with it. And it's wonderful. "I'm really enjoying this dance, Bertholdt."

"I am too. It's not as and here, not like I thought it would be. It's just, the people, really. They're--"

"Intimidating? That's how it's supposed to he. It's all about appearances and power here." She's giving a dark stare towards some person, some place. "Despite what everyone claims, names are really everything here. Names so easily targeted and destroyed with simple words.” Marcie’s tone has grown bitter, brown eyes still cast elsewhere almost as if searching for someone. It isn't fair to Bertholdt though, so she turns her attention back to him. It’s easy for him to capture her attention, just with that smile. It’s different from the ones she’d grown up with. So sincere and honest. She adores it.

The conversation falls easily after that. Words aren't really needed, their focus is on the music . He’s still new to the dance, she has to readjust herself to match him, but it not a bother. It’s welcomed. She’s laughing with him as he gives nervous apologies. Such a strangely appreciated habit.

It’s wrong of her to enjoy this so much. Too many people are watching them, probably speaking of the smile on her face. But he seems so much less nervous and it lifts her own spirits of the night. “Thank you for that,” she mumbles. The song is ending, they've both stopped moving and she can't bring herself to pull away just yet. It's all so strange.

“Marcie.”

The voice is a slap in the face to her. Her head is jerks up as Bertholdt glances down to her and she's pulling away immediately, hands linking back together as she turns to the speaker. “Jean… There you are.” She smiles again, stepping towards him but flinching at his hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me; I thought it only fair to dance with some other of our guests. Don’t you think?”

Jean’s giving a blank stare as he watches her, and when he finally acknowledges Bertholdt, it’s almost an arrogant smile. “I understand. Thank you for entertaining my fiancé as I attended to something else sir. I won’t let her bother you anymore.”

Every eye is in him, he can feel it. Annie has magically reappeared, but he can barely register her hand in his arm or the squeezing of his fists as he watches the embarrassment in Marcie's face. "It was no trouble at all. She was excellent company. Thank you for letting me have that pleasure of providing her an audience."

He's an arrogant prick for sure. The way he just smiles and lulls her away. His dismissal is enough to break the attention from Bertholdt, even as he fumes to himself in silence.

"Fuck's sake Bertholdt, you know how to pick them. Jean Kristein's fiancé?!" It's a short hiss from the blonde hand squeezing his arm until he pulls out of it. "What were you thinking?!"

The councilman's son, his could he be so stupid? "I wasn't. Don't worry...." It's a clear shot now. He's going to take it, like he should've from the start.

"I'm never going to see her again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bertholdt you know you are.


	2. A Life Goes by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, I have no idea what I'm doing

The skyline of the Trost downtown was not one to boast about, when compared to other glorious cities. The city itself was small for its name. And unlike the larger cities, the skyline never seemed to change.

Marcie knew it all. She’d watched it all from this very spot for years, the never changing lines of rooftops against the ever changing sky. Times like this, the early morning where the sun is barely waking are her favorites to watch. Even as a child, she’d be here, sinking into the plush of her lounge chair. Her parents weren’t even up yet. It’s peace for her.

Peace, that lets her mind wander. To thoughts and memories she can’t process with others. Even as she fiddles with the skirt that drapes over her knees her eyes are on a different scene. It’s white and cream, with her in a room much similar to this. The memory is silent, but she knows what her parents are saying.  Jean’s face is in disbelief, and her voice is lost. She can’t, or refuses, to process the statements. Marriage. Everything has been taken care of. Both sets of parents are in agreement, both families can accept the benefits.

The Benefits.

Her fiddling with the skirt has become harsh grips. It wasn’t of her family thinking of her’s and Jean’s actual relationship. NO it was the benefits. Always the Benefits.

The councilman’s son. A rising Political figure. A Kirstein. Her best friend.

The innocent bliss of school day friends never changed for them. It should have, shouldn’t it? There used to be times in the sandbox where Jean would stand on the beams and declare her his wife. And maybe, she wanted to be?

Marcie shook her head, letting go of the fabric and sinking into the chair instead. She had gone through the party, now the engagement was known. There was no backing out now, as if she had a choice. Every family knew, probably anyone who bothered with the stories about the upper citizens of Trost to escape their own plain lives knew. Why did it bother her?

Watching the palm of her hand disappeared under curling fingers reminded her. It’s still warm to her, lingering like fading sleep.

No! That couldn’t be it, that was stupid. His only point in her life was that dance. Though thought is shaken from her Marcie’s head before her skirt has finished slipping back into place. She’s bother for different reasons.

By the time the hustle of her parents comes around, she still hasn’t found another clear reason. Seven already… she’s quick to readjust her clothing before joining them in the kitchen, quiet good mornings to her parents as they rush around. Her father never acknowledges her, save for a ‘Pass me that.’ Her mother attempts some form of a greeting, even if it’s lost in the chatter of her client on the phone.

There’s her family name at work. Lawyers of the esteemed, partners of the rich. They always seem to get the top cases. They always win, their cases. It was probably why people like the Kirsteins loved their company. That’s probably why she rarely left the apartment too. Political enemies, what fun.

It was some sort of sick, twisted pride her ransom price was so high.

It’s not long before the clattering of a family is gone, and once again she’s left alone. There’s the housekeeper of course, but Marcie never seemed to really hold conversations with her. She preferred the quiet now to her younger years of living with her older sisters. At least they seemed happy in their marriages.

“Surprise surprise! Marcie Body once again at the window. Really Marc, do you ever actually spend time in your home that… isn’t here?”

Jean almost forgot the squeak she makes when surprised, how she has a habit of spinning around with a puff of her cheek and a stomp of her foot. She’s a child sometimes, he loves her for it. He just makes himself at home and starts at the stove. “You’re getting married, should you be out… shopping?”

Marcie is anything but amused as she sits herself at the island and traces her fingers across the surface. “Is that all you expect of me Jean? To completely throw my parents and your money out the window on useless one time needed purchases?” The scoff from the boy turns into a laugh and the silence is replaced by the simmering of liquids. “I never understood it…”

Jean is quick to dismiss the conversation as he slides the meats and vegetables within the fluff of the eggs. That was Marcie, she never was into other things girls were. Marcie was Marcie. He liked her for that. Among the many details of their relationship.

“Alright, yeah I give you not enough credit… Eat up. We need to.. well we need to work out the details for this.”

“Not going to sneak away with Annie again?”

It’s her turn to tease him, to watch the flush across his face as he drops the Omelet in front of her. “It was one dance…” he gruffed, returning to the stove and starting his process.

“So was Mine.”

Marcie notices he’s stopped cutting, his body’s gone rigid and he’s staring at something other than his fingers.

  
That was different Marcie. They were starting to talk, you know how they are. You can’t do that you’re—“

“A girl?” The slam of the fork makes Jean visibly flinch. Another rarity from him.

“I didn’t mean….”

“It’s exactly what you meant Jean. You’re a male, it’s natural of you to flirt with women, it’s okay for you to show any kind of emotion around the other sex, but if I so much as blink towards someone I’m shaming my parents, and you!”

The anger isn’t meant, an accident. She’s now squeezing the fork between her fingers, closing her eyes as she tries to calm herself. It’s strange; she’s always been able to keep these things in, to look past the transgressions of her life.

“It…just isn’t fair.”

Jean’s sighing. It’s something he often does these days. The omelet is his first priority before he’s sitting beside Marcie, squeezing her hand tightly before staring at nothing again.

“I know.. I’m sorry. I promise though… I’ll take care of you.”

It’s all he can say. There’s no other choice for them anymore. Suddenly, Jean’s presence feels forced upon her, the omelet has lost its flavor and all she can do it push it around. Benefits. That’s all this is about. Benefits. They’ve soiled her most precious friendship into this awkward mess. She can’t love him that way, and he’s already enamored elsewhere. Children? She doesn’t think she can handle the process. Not forced, another sham for the public to fawn over.

Her thoughts are once again on that night, imagining the feelings of their hands intertwined and the sincere smile. It was a nice taste of freedom. It was, for her, that freedom to be with Bertholdt Fubar.

“Ilse and Ymir.. will return home by the end of this week. And… our… wedding isn’t until next month.” Marcie is hesitant in her words, as if trying not to offend Jean and force herself to say them. “Once they’re home, I’ll begin shipping for what I need. Along with Annie.”

“Fair enough…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair enough Kirstein, I smell Leonhardt on you.


	3. And Never Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no idea what I'm doing.

“Are you even listening to me Fubar?” 

 

The light sting of a wet cloth to his face is enough to stir the boy from his thoughts, a quiet whimper of pain as the attempts to rub the most likely dirty water off his face begin. There’s drops across his notebooks, and this time the noise from his throat is of dismay. 

 

Annie has no true concern for the slightly damaged work. There's only a small puff of air from her nose that blows her bangs across her cheeks before they settle. The tray of used dishes hovers in the air beside her as the glare grows. Bertholdt squirms, and she's satisfied as the dishes pass through the window to the workers behind. She can't stand it here, among the crowds of customers that demand her attention and service. Refills, orders, complains, and endless screams of children. Why she even works here is beyond her, especially with it being the fourth of her jobs this week alone. She won't admit the relief it is to see Bertholdt hovered over the counter, at least half pretending to listen to her as she makes her rounds.   
  
Bertholdt for his part, is continuing his attempts to save his notes. There's little avail. It's already seeped into the pages, lines blurred and ink mixing together.  
  
"I needed that..."  
  
If he had actually made an effort, there would have been more lost beyond the few thesises he could come up with, scribbled outlines and shortened quotes. There's something that won't let him focus on his english. Bertholdt won't acknowledge  it, only glance up enough to catch the shrug. He'll try again, flipping open to the assigned pages and giving it another read.  
  
"Yeah sure. Sorry" It's an attempt. "And I need this shift to be over. Why the hell did I agree to work the weekend? You're lucky you took my offer to a free meal... Welcome to the Crooked Table, How Many?"  
  
He's lucky? He doesn't question it, just return to the established schedule. Between the seating and waiting, the onslaught of questions and monologues occur. He and Annie rarely seem to stay on anything for too long, they always jump. From him, to her, to his roommate Reiner, The mechanics pestering at Bertholdt to focus on is studies instead of picking up a job. Sometimes she asks how his paper is going and he replies with simply a shrug.  
  
"You've been out of it since that party, Bertholdt."   
  
There it is. He could feel the subject creeping it's way out from her, the occasional glance towards him when she thinks he isn't paying attention. He's never been happier for a family to walk through those doors. For Annie to be pulled away. It's not enough time, but he can pull himself together, he can steady his hand enough to finish a sentence.   
  
"So?"   
  
"....Someone dragged me out from a perfectly fine evening of playing my violin to go to a party full of people I'd never met. And then, they left me alone for over an hour. I don't think anyone would be fine from that."  
  
He's ready to protect his notebook, for another towel to his face. What' he's not ready for is a sigh, or the clink of dishes before she's leaning beside him from her side of the counter. Annie likes to push her bangs behind her ear when she's trying to form a thought. They're always too short to stay.   
  
"I'm sorry." He definitely wasn't ready for an apology. "You're right. I couldn't stand being there alone so I dragged you into shit. And I left you alone with shitty people."   
  
"...How do you even... Politics and all that's, not really your thing."  
  
Annie isn't one for back stories.She’s already readjusting against the counter, pushing her bangs again and a frown dominates her face. 

 

“I met Jean at some stupid party. He’s always hated being his dad’s perfect little boy. When we were all still in high school, I ran into him. He’s a political brat, could get away with anything. He brought the drinks… He had the money, I had the knowledge. We clicked. Instantly. We just… wanted to be ourselves.” 

 

Bertholdt’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The conversation had taken it’s turn into unsavory, unspeakable territory. Annie would never admit to it but she was growing uncomfortable, memories and thoughts trying to make an appearance again. 

 

“So you two just sort of stuck together ever since?”

 

He’s glad for the small smirk that’s pulling at her lips, the small chuckle as she’s collecting customers. 

 

“Inseparable.”

 

It explains her constant disappearances when they were younger, answers the question games Reiner and he used to play. Chance encounters were always Annie’s thing. He prefered to stay home, Give him one, and he manages to screw it all up. It’s a shame it was her. A shame that she couldn’t be his in-- 

 

He wasn’t going to go there. 

 

“What about her… How did you two?” 

 

Annie can’t help the snort, the laugh as Bertholdt pretends like he’s not a bright red in the face and is actually doing homework. He’s more helpless than she expects. It kills her. 

 

“Marcie and Jean are a year apart, her older. My age. All the political brats go to school together, they did too. They’ve been best friends since kindergarten. But that’s about it. Shit I can’t even remember them… Anyway, one night, I’m totally smashed. Took part of a contest, and Jean didn’t trust sending me home. His folks are gone so I crash there -- Don’t give me that look nothing happened! NExt morning some girl is staring at me like I’m some cheap off the street. Jean’s losing it at how embarrassed Marc is and introduces us. That’s it. IT’s been us three.”

 

Annie offers another shrug, expert in keeping the smile from breaking through. It’s always the awkward memories that seem to be the best for her. The most natural. It’s even nice to see Bertholdt smiling himself, laughing at her expense in cheering up. 

 

“I’m almost done. Wrap it up Fubar, let's get out of here.” She’s trying to bat her hit to his shoulder. The wet rags and apron are being discarded easily in the laundry bin as she retreats to the kitchen to clock out.

 

Bertholdt has released just how pointless it was to attempt this paper. The scribbles won’t work as starting points. What a terrible distraction. He should have known better, as he knows when it comes to trying anything around Annie and when his heart can’t be put into it. 

 

“Marc? Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.” 

 

It’s rare to catch Annie off guard. Years of keeping to her side have taught this well to Bertholdt. The look on her face is discomfort, and he’s trying to keep the curiosity from his face as the last of the notebooks is carefully repacked in his bag. It’s hard, especially when the familiar softness of that voice glues him to his spot. 

 

Never again. Never again. If he can repeat it enough it’ll be true. 

 

“Fine. But only because you asked. Yeah,bye.” 

 

“Everything okay?” The annoyance is still on her face, the frown deep set as her usual glare returns and creates another shiver down his spine. 

  
“..... I need a ride. Marcie wants to see me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Bertholdt but repeating Mantras over and over do not always make them certain.


End file.
